


Whereof What's Past

by CocksAndClocks



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Science Puns, Gay Sex, High School Reunion, Hurt/Comfort, I know almost nothing of tarot so please take my interpretation kindly, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oz is recovering and Qrow is absolutely not smooth, Tarot Readings, everyone is bisexual in this one, mention of Joe's Crab Shack, mentions of abuse, more angst than I usually write but as always it's a happy ending, the one with the psychic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 03:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17113556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: In high school, Qrow Branwen harbored a secret crush on the teacher that reached out to him at a dark time. Ten years later, with the help of whiskey and a very unlikely psychic reading, Qrow plans on rekindling that crush at a time when Ozpin needs him just as much.





	1. There would this monster make a man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/gifts).



> A very happy Christmas to my dear friend TigerMoon. I'm your OzQrow Secret Santa! Without further ado, please enjoy. Given prompt: Have a little faith ~
> 
> “…she that from whom  
> We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again  
> (And by that destiny) to perform an act  
> Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come,  
> In yours and my discharge.”
> 
> The Tempest, Act 2, scene 1, 245–254

Even the red rays of the California sun couldn’t penetrate the parking garage, James Ironwood’s white sedan still radiating heat as he climbed out, taking a long breath of concrete-stale air. The car beeped tonelessly as he made his way to the elevator, the heels of his oxfords echoing behind him. He checked his phone for the third time in less than a minute, knowing full well that this evening could go tremendously wrong.

Not that his intentions were anything but charitable. He could imagine saying as much to Oz, who would snort sarcastically.

“I always appreciate your charity, James,” he would say.

Nevertheless, it was charity and mercy and – to be perfectly honest – it might just distract Ozpin long enough to forget to be melancholy and reclusive.

At least for a day or two.

He stepped into the lobby of the Grand Hyatt, spotting the bar, all polished tin and dim string lights. Oz loved this bar for some reason, whether the secluded darkness or the industrial-chic décor or the pretentious wine list, James couldn’t quite understand. But it boasted quiet and competent bartenders and good gin, so he didn’t complain when Oz insisted on meeting there yet again.

He took a seat in the corner (anything else and Ozpin would arrive, raising his eyebrows in disapproval of the nearness of others) and put his phone on the table. The waiter stopped by immediately and James ordered himself a White Linen and one of the most expensive Napa Valley wines on the list for Ozpin, content to have the few minutes before his best friend arrived, with all the quietly dark clouds that followed him.

Ozpin Pine arrived just after the drinks, taking a seat across from James with the predicted sigh. He didn’t dress like an educator, unless you looked at prestigious tenured professors in their expensive suits and wingtips, every bit of him polished and pressed – except, of course, for his hair, always too a little long, always styled as if it was once brushed many years ago but never again since – before the dark chestnut brown had faded to premature silver, highlighted and consumed by the stress of a man too young for the weight of his own life.

“I apologize; the meeting ran late. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

At least his courtesy never faltered under the weight of his sadness, offering James a brief smile that he knew Ozpin didn’t mean. 

“No, not at all.” He pushed the wine glass toward Ozpin.

On cue, Ozpin regarded it cautiously. “What did you order?”

James laughed. “Come now, Oz, I’ve known you long enough to get a few things right. Red, not white; dry, not sweet.”

Ozpin brought the glass to his nose, taking a ginger sip. “A Cab?” he asked.

“From Napa.”

Ozpin sighed, shaking his head with more than a little fondness. “The name doesn’t automatically mean quality, James.”

“It’s a hundred bucks a bottle, Oz.”

Ozpin hummed, taking another sip despite his criticism. “Payment for the name. French champagne isn’t inherently better for being grown from – ”

“Why does every evening with you turn into a wine lesson?” James said.

“Because evidently you refuse to learn.”

“Next time I’ll order you a White Zin spritzer,” James said, chuckling.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Oz said, his gloom breaking enough to allow a genuine laugh. “Now then, I have the strongest suspicions and wildest theories as to why you’ve called me for a ‘boys’ night out’ the day before the reunion, so out with it.”

James cleared his throat, and Ozpin shot him a sideways look.

“Is it that serious?” Oz asked.

“I didn’t think I was so obvious.”

Ozpin smiled into his glass. “James, we have known each other for too long for pretenses.”

James, of course, didn’t believe that at all; Ozpin was a continuous pretense, all vagaries of actual information or emotion, thinly veiled secrets that could be spied in pieces, hazarded together with time and patience. Twenty years of friendship, of growing from boys to men, and James hardly had an idea of what Ozpin’s life looked like behind the curtain.

They called each other best friend; now, in the most unconventional manner possible, James was going to act like it.

“I confess,” James said, after a long sip of his drink, “that I asked someone to meet me here tonight. To meet you.”

Ozpin’s eyebrows raised – cautious suspicion, like an asocial cat. “Oh?” he said, in a careless tone that betrayed him.

James took a long breath, his rehearsed speech fleeing the moment he reached for it.

“She’s a great girl, Oz.”

Immediately Ozpin’s demeanor shifted. He placed his glass on the table, avoiding James’ eyes. “James, I…hope you aren’t suggesting this is a set up.”

“What?” James blinked, then gave half a laugh. “No, of course not – at least, not how you imagine. We’re seeing each other, Oz. You know, going steady and all that.”

“Oh!” Ozpin’s expression cleared, a hand covering his eyes briefly. “Of course. Forgive me, James, I…”

“You thought I was dumb enough to set you up on a blind date?” James said incredulously. “Come on, Oz. That’s an expensive glass of wine to have thrown in my face.”

Ozpin chuckled. “A wise move, my friend. So, tell me about this girl you’re seeing.”

James sighed, his drink rippling. “Oz, she’s…incredible. She’s got this unspoken authority and she doesn’t think before giving her opinions. She’s like no other woman I’ve ever met.”

“Pretty?”

James made a noise of admiration. “She’s gorgeous. Blonde and a figure like you wouldn’t believe. We’ve only been seeing each other for a month, but I think I could really fall for this girl.”

“She sounds charming,” Ozpin said. “I’ll be happy for the introduction. I admit, however, that the secrecy of her coming is a little odd.”

_Drink faster and you wouldn’t catch on so quickly,_ James thought, steeling himself with another sip of gin and elderflower. 

“About that,” he said. “She…specifically asked to meet you.”

“Oh? Talking so much behind my back?” Ozpin teased. 

James pursed his lips, wondering how much his best friend was about to hate him. “No,” he said slowly. “She told me she wanted to meet the friend of mine who was so unhappy.”

Ozpin’s face went blank, his eyes searching James’ face for an explanation.

“What exactly does that mean?” he asked, the silence stretching too long.

“Well, she’s…” James grimaced, knowing how this would all sound. “She’s a psychic.”

Ozpin’s expression went unreadable, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “Psychic,” he said flatly.

“She calls herself a ‘modern witch.’ I know how it sounds, Oz. But…look, I never believed in it myself, but she…she’s right about an awful lot of things.”

Ozpin gave a beleaguered sigh. “James, it was a fishing act. Everyone has a sad friend.”

James shrugged, lifting his drink again. “Well, she was very determined, and once she makes up her mind, it’s impossible to dissuade her. So for better or worse, she wants to read you.”

“…read me.”

“You know, with the cards.”

Ozpin snorted, shaking his head. “Your new girlfriend wants to give me a tarot reading.”

“Is that so strange?” James asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

_So far, so good. He hasn’t run away. Although maybe that’s only because the wine is good._

“Well. It is certainly unorthodox.”

“Talking about me, boys?”

A low, feminine voice broke in, a white hand reaching out to rest upon James’ shoulder. A woman, blonde and slender in a svelte black dress, leaned over to kiss James – a kiss that quickly became less than appropriate, Ozpin averting his eyes politely.

_Glynda always knew how to make an entrance._

“Who’s your shy friend?” she asked, shooting Ozpin an amused glance.

“I’m not shy,” Ozpin objected into his wine.

“Just repressed,” James said, earning a sour look from his friend.

“Honey, you don’t have to tell me.” Glynda sat beside James, giving him a long look. “You’re the only man in California who would wear a white linen suit in September.”

“It’s part of my Southern charm,” James said, grinning.

Ozpin cleared his throat pointedly.

“We’re making him uncomfortable,” Glynda murmured, leaning back into James’ lips.

“Mmm,” James said, smiling against her mouth. “He always is.”

“He can hear you perfectly well,” Ozpin huffed. 

Glynda laughed and broke away, sliding more comfortably into her chair. She regarded Ozpin over the tops of austere glasses, leaning over the table on her elbows. 

“So, to business then,” she said. “Name’s Goodwitch. Glynda. You must be the sad friend whose aura always clouds James’.”

Across the table, Ozpin rolled his eyes, reaching for his wine. “Ozpin Pine. Charmed.”

“Hmm. Reserved. Closed off. Afraid of love in all forms.”

Ozpin bristled like a wet cat. “I’m certain you say that to everyone.”

Glynda shrugged, waving a waiter over. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong about you.” She gave the waiter a winning smile, pink lips and white teeth. “Vodka martini, dirty, please.”

James thought about Glynda pulling olives off the toothpick between those lips and sighed, resisting the urge to comment on the word _dirty._ They could be at his place now, Glynda with the olives and him finding the zipper on the back of her dress – 

The things he did for Ozpin.

“Will you let her read you?” James asked, as Ozpin sat, tense as though about to bolt.

“What can it hurt?” Glynda asked. “If you don’t believe it, you can go to bed tonight continuing to think I’m a hack.”

“You seem to feel very strongly about this,” Ozpin said, looking at James. 

“I do.”

_This is for your own good, old man._

“So, if you must.”

The charming smile returned, pale hands digging in her purse.

“You’re not what I expected,” Oz remarked, watching as she placed a deck of tarot cards on the table. The cards boasted strange, bright childlike drawings of people, the edges worn and smooth.

“What did you expect?” Glynda said, shuffling the deck.

“Well.” Ozpin hesitated, a sign he was searching for polite phrasing. “You don’t look…”

“Like I huff frankincense?” Glynda said, clucking at him. “You know that Miss Cleo was a fake, right?”

Ozpin rolled his eyes again, draining his wine – James motioned to the bartender to refill it immediately – and adjusting his glasses, all pretentious fidgeting. Uncomfortable, but too curious to decline.

Another glass of wine and he wouldn’t protest at all.

Glynda placed the deck neatly before him, leaning back. “Shuffle as much as you want, then cut the deck.”

Ozpin’s movements were careful – no doubt like James, he noticed the weary edges of the cards, like a deck that had been carried and used for years, like a comforting stuffed animal. He shuffled them twice, cutting them neatly down the middle.

James sat back with his drink in hand, happy to watch the scene before him unfold. Ozpin would be impressed; he simply knew it.

“To avoid trying your patience,” Glynda began, moving the cards to the side of the table, “I’ll be quick about it. A simple six-card spread to give you the layout of your life at the moment. The first card represents how you regard yourself.”

She flipped the top card, a scene of a man and woman, tastefully nude, in a gentle embrace.

“The Lovers,” Glynda said.

Ozpin went scarlet.

James pressed his lips together to avoid laughing. Already this was worth Ozpin’s temporary annoyance with him.

“Surely,” Ozpin said, almost stammering over the word, “these aren’t literal.”

“Sometimes the cards are as literal as they need to be, if someone requires help in listening,” Glynda remarked, raising an eyebrow. “In this case, love has been on your mind in some capacity. Perhaps you believe it is time to find a new lover. Even if you haven’t been thinking of love, the universe may have different plans for you.”

Ozpin said nothing, averting his eyes as the waiter arrived with their drinks. 

Glynda didn’t wait for a response, flipping the next card. “This card represents what you most want right now.” She regarded the card. “The Moon. At this time, you desire clarity and less of the confused emotions that leave you fearful and vulnerable. You want to know the outcome because you are so unsure about how you feel.”

James watched Ozpin shift in his chair. 

_Bingo._

Locked away for far too long, and by his own doing.

James loathed to force Ozpin’s hand, but he feared otherwise his friend would never come out of the prison he had made for himself. And, of course, James couldn’t refuse Glynda.

Glynda chuckled. “The Moon is also a good omen if you begin a clandestine affair.”

Ozpin snorted, but the color on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Have you considered starting such an affair?” Glynda teased, reaching for the next card.

“I most certainly have _not,”_ Ozpin said, with such a ring of deceit that James had to consider _who_ such a person might be.

“The third card represents your fears,” Glynda said. “Oh. The Death card.” She paused, giving Ozpin a searching look. “You really have been through something, haven’t you?”

Ozpin looked stricken for a moment, eyes dropping to his glass.

James cleared his throat softly, and Glynda looked at him, catching his expression.

_Don’t push._

“Well.” Glynda took a long breath. “You are afraid of experiencing turbulent and catastrophic change, as we all are, but challenging transformation in our lives helps create the space for something new. If you are experiencing or have just experienced a job loss, a bereavement, divorce or the end of a relationship, these changes will allow new experiences and opportunities to enter your life.”

“A new, clandestine affair?” Ozpin murmured, his lips twitching.

“If that’s what you’re after, honey,” Glynda said. 

A pause, and then Ozpin looked up. 

“Go on,” he said.

From across the table, James’ eyebrows shot up.

_I knew it. Someone finally called him out and he didn’t run away._

“The fourth card represents your current situation. You’ve pulled The Hermit. You’ve been unwell, physically or – as I surmise, emotionally. You are instinctively taking time to relax and reflect, drawing on inner strength and wisdom to guide you through this difficult period in your life. Despite what you believe now, time will heal you, and when you are faced with the decision to move on, it will be the correct decision.”

The sadness from Ozpin’s side of the table was palpable now, creeping over James like a cold breath of air.

“Go on,” Ozpin said again, quietly.

“The fifth card is what is working against you. You pulled…” Glynda paused, the card in hand for a moment before she placed in in the spread. “The World.” She drew a long breath. “Oh, honey.”

“Please don’t pity me,” Ozpin said, his voice so low James could hardly hear him.

Glynda forced half a smile, nodding. “As always, fear holds us back and so often leads to missed opportunities. Do not give up on yourself just because you have experienced delays. Have faith, always, and the universe will right what has been wronged.”

She drew the final card, placing it at the top of the spread. “The Emperor is the outcome of this, a man whose faith will make all the difference in your situation. He will guide you through the worst of this, opening up what doors you have closed. Based on your previous cards, I would assume this man to be a romantic interest.”

Ozpin, his cheeks pink and eyes cast away, gave no indication he heard anything.

James let out a long breath. “Oz?”

His friend finally looked at him, lips pressed tightly together.

“Like I said,” he said quietly, “I’m sure she says this to everyone.”

James felt his shoulders slump.

_The stubborn ass._

“Oz – “

“This was all very amusing,” Ozpin said, rising, his second glass of wine untouched. “But, James, I am not in the mood for fairytales right now. I thank you for your time, Glynda, but I think I’ve heard enough.”

Glynda snorted, overly loudly.

Ozpin paused, taken aback by the attitude.

“Do you _really_ think I came all the way down here to prank you?” she asked, her tone turning sharp. “My time is worth more than cheap parlor tricks. Look, Ozpin, you don’t have to believe me, but I’m right.”

“Everything you’ve said can be easily guessed at when someone is working through a difficult time in their life.”

_“Oh?”_ she said, and James grimaced. 

He knew that tone.

“You want specifics?” Glynda said. _”Fine._ In the next twenty-four hours you should expect some surprises. The cards show a restless astral climate with many interactions of an energetic nature. You might try to take advantage of this climate by trying new things on a personal level, which you seem to never do. 

“The cards highlight a person that is very important to you; someone you have been thinking about for a long time, but that seems difficult to approach. In your draw you have the resources to embark on this adventure. You are a thoughtful, kind, and independent person and these are essential qualities for attracting this person. The cards highlight the obstacles that prevent you from going after what you want. They are primarily social constraints. You place a heavy, impossible degree of guilt on this desire.

“Recently, you seem to feel a certain weariness in your personal life. In your external environment, things tend to repeat themselves endlessly. You sometimes find this routine difficult to bear and you need a change of scenery. The cards highlight this desire for renewal and evoke new opportunities in your life. This change could take place in the next twenty-four hours when you meet a man – an old flame – who could change things in your life, and bring something new to your personal circumstances. You need to know who it is to understand the lessons of this draw. This is a person who means a lot to you but who, unfortunately, you see rarely. The cards show you have an unbreakable bond with him. When he is with you, he brings human warmth, joy and happiness; however, his absence makes you nostalgic, sometimes melancholy.

“The cards represent a person who has reached the end of a cycle. It represents the need to continually renew personal goals in order to avoid situations where you are defeated or blocked.

“Everything comes down to this,” Glynda finished. “Your need to move on from the loss in your life, the lifting of your guilt as a result, and this man you once knew, but were afraid to love in return. He is a reoccurring theme in everything I see here.”

Ozpin listened to all this, James watching him turn paler and paler, until he reached to grasp the back of his chair.

“And if that’s not enough for specifics,” Glynda said, “then I offer this: the number three, blackened metal, and the color red – but not the color of his shirt. And when he arrives with his carriage, don’t fucking turn him down.”

Ozpin was now so white James sat up to offer him assistance.

“Oz,” he said gently.

“You – you told her – “

“James didn’t tell me a damn thing,” Glynda said. “This was all my idea, and he agreed because he loves you.”

Ozpin’s lips moved, but no words escaped. 

“Oz,” James said. “There are some things that even I don’t know.”

_Some._

There were a lot of things James didn’t know.

“No, I suppose you couldn’t – “ Ozpin took a long, shaky breath. “I think I should go. My apologies, Glynda, for my rudeness.”

“It comes with the territory, honey.”

“James, I’ll see you at the reunion tomorrow.”

James looked at Oz in surprise. “You’re still going?”

Ozpin gave an unstable laugh. “Apparently I must.”

James nodded. “Will you be all right tonight?”

“He will be,” Glynda answered for him. “Sometimes we have to dig into the wound to extract what’s causing the pain. Have a little faith, Ozpin. This will pass.”

Ozpin regarded her with injured eyes, an expression stunned beyond the scope of his voice. He closed his eyes, as though to reorient his world, and turned away, leaving them without a word.

James half-rose to follow him, but Glynda placed a hand on his arm.

“Some battles we have to fight unaided,” she said softly.

James leaned back, taking her hand in his, guilty for the comfort she gave him while his closest friend faced the night alone.


	2. Th’ occasion speaks thee

Qrow Branwen watched Taiyang load the beaten ice chest into the truck of his minivan, errant ice cubes scattering across the driveway when the faulty lid shifted, forming tiny puddles across hot concrete.

_September, and it’s still hotter than Satan’s balls._

Qrow drained the last of his warming beer and crushed the can in his hand, wondering for the millionth time if this wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life.

Given his life, that was saying something.

“I can’t believe you’re taking that old thing,” Summer said. She leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed over her growing belly. “I can’t believe we still _have_ that old thing.”

“We can’t throw it out!” Tai said, his protest winded. The ice chest lurched into place, more ice tinkling over the bumper. “It’s part of our history!”

“History,” Summer repeated, shaking her head fondly. “Drinking cheap beer out of the truck in a high school parking lot is history?”

“Ours, sure,” Qrow said. “It’ll be like we never graduated at all.”

“It already is,” Summer said.

“Ouch,” Tai said, returning to the house. “It’s the only way I could convince Qrow to come with me.”

“The offer to trade places is still on the table,” Qrow said. “I’ll watch Yang, and you can go – “

“Oh, no,” Summer interjected. “No way. Yang will be in bed by seven, and then I have the entire house to myself. I intend on eating junk food and watching all the sad movies you hate.”

Qrow scoffed. “Gross.”

“You could make Tai go alone and watch _The Notebook_ with me – “

“All right, all right,” Qrow groaned, making a face. “I’ll go to the damn reunion.”

Summer smiled, all innocence. “Have fun, you two.”

“Fun,” Qrow muttered, as Tai kissed his wife goodbye.

Qrow didn’t expect this to be fun.

High school was a blur of bullying and amateur fist fights, the droning of dry lesson plans and underage drinking at lunch. Why Tai wanted to go to their ten-year reunion was beyond the scope of Qrow’s understanding, but Tai had promised beer, a bottle of whiskey, and a ride.

The things Qrow would do for a free drink.

Qrow flopped into the passenger seat, another beer already in hand.

“Please don’t get me pulled over,” Taiyang said, buckling his seatbelt. 

“You knew my terms,” Qrow said. “Plus you made me wear a suit when it’s like Death Valley out here.”

“Look, man…” Tai trailed off as they backed out of the driveway. “If you really don’t want to go, I can let you off the hook. I just thought…”

Qrow sighed, knowing the end of the thought. 

“No,” he said quietly. “I gotta do it. Closure, maybe? Because let’s be honest, this is a really fucking stupid idea.”

Tai shot him a brief smile, all sympathy. “I’m proud of you, Qrow.”

“Gross,” Qrow said into his beer.

Taiyang laughed. “It’ll work out.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know, for someone who goes out of his way to be an asshole, you’re pretty loveable.”

“Tai, I will pour this beer on your dick.”

“I’m serious! Just…have a little faith, okay?”

Qrow sank into the seat, looking out the window at the empty landscape, the tall buildings of the state capitol hazy in the distance.

“Faith,” he said. “Sure.”

Ten years.

A full decade of wrestling with what he couldn’t have, good memories decayed and turned sour like milk. Ten years running away from all of it and every act of the goddamn universe pulling him back, like magnets, each new road in his life leading him back to this, back to _him._

To say it was a lost cause was an understatement. This wasn’t one of Summer’s bad movies. People didn’t carry a torch for a decade and expect it to work out.

In fact, Qrow wasn’t sure if his feelings were anything but ghosts now.

After all, Oz probably wasn’t the same person anymore. Qrow sure wasn’t.

“If he’s not there,” Qrow said, “I’ll just get drunk in the fucking van. Hell, even if he is there, I probably will.”

Tai said nothing, sighing and keeping his eyes on the road.

After all, there was really nothing else to say.

The good memories – the memories of Mr. Pine’s chemistry class, a young teacher with prematurely graying hair and old man glasses; lecturing about electrons and attraction, chuckling wryly at his own bad puns; absolutely fucking inept with technology, grappling with the overhead projector every goddamn day until Qrow, an awkward, emo, gangly freshman, lost patience and helped him, finding the fray in the power cord and repairing it with duct tape.

The smile Mr. Pine gave him was something Qrow had not forgotten, more than ten years later.

They bonded, slowly, awkwardly, between classes and at lunch, when Qrow would stop by to avoid Raven and her bully friends. At first, they rarely spoke, each too uncomfortable to break the ever-growing silences between them. And then one day Qrow showed up without a lunch, Raven’s friends having stolen his change yet again, and Mr. Pine offered him half of his own – sushi, such a weird thing to have for lunch, raw fish and rice wrapped in too many suspect things. But like Mr. Pine, the weirdness of it passed with a taste, and Qrow reasoned that perhaps neither were as bad as he once thought.

He learned more about Mr. Pine during those lunches, which extended beyond his freshman year and into the next, and the next. He made his own lunches every day, each one slightly different, all world cuisine that Qrow never recognized.

“Cooking is a hobby,” he explained, offering Qrow half of his lumpia. “It keeps the day a little more interesting.”

And Qrow, who never expected the handouts but nevertheless accepted them, considered this lesson, and all the other quiet, unassuming lessons Mr. Pine offered during their casual meals together. Eventually, Qrow opened up about the bullying, his miserable home life, and Mr. Pine offered something no one else had – sympathy, like from a soul that bore the same scars.

More importantly, he didn’t show pity. 

In hindsight, the crush was inevitable. Mr. Pine with the gentle voice and quiet authority, the soft compassion he only showed when they were alone. 

Mr. Pine, with the sad smile and expressive brown eyes, the dark hair that steadily grew grayer with each passing year.

By Qrow’s senior year, they had exchanged phone numbers, Mr. Pine – Oz, as Qrow called him, when no one else was around – informing Qrow to contact him in case of emergency, should his home life come to that. Instead, Qrow texted him all the time, about nothing in particular, reading the returned messages in Oz’s soothing tone. He answered immediately, no matter the time. Midnight, six in the morning – Qrow was always a priority. 

And then one day, he didn’t.

Qrow texted him good morning, as he always had, waiting for the response.

It didn’t come, and neither did Oz. A substitute, a stranger who regarded the class as such, taught that day, and at lunch, Qrow went hungry.

Oz returned the next day, Qrow hurrying to class to be sure of it, stopping abruptly in the doorway when he saw the sling. Oz met his eyes and just as quickly looked away, as though ashamed of something Qrow didn’t understand.

At lunch, Oz was quiet, apologetic for missing their usual appointment. He dismissed questions about his arm, citing carelessness, but Qrow knew.

Qrow knew that shame, that avoidance, and he seethed, wishing for someone to blame or to hurt in return but unable to draw a name from Oz’s lips. 

The answer came soon enough. Oz began receiving calls at lunch, concealing the phone from Qrow’s eyes. The first time, he looked at his student, his face grave. 

“Please,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “Don’t make a sound.”

The calls themselves were unremarkable, brief and without feeling, but Oz would say “I love you too” just before disconnecting, and then spent the rest of lunch looking sick, twisting the plain gold band on his hand with unconcealed anxiety.

The rest of the pieces were easy enough to put together.

Qrow agonized over it. He visited every day, sharing Oz’s lunch, talking about nothing important, nothing serious, cherishing each sad smile he put on Oz’s lips, falling carefully still and silent when his wife would call.

And yet Oz’s mood deteriorated rapidly. 

A week before Qrow’s graduation, in the comfortable silence of lunch, Qrow announced that he was going to get a job as a chemistry teacher.

Oz let out a soft laugh. “You don’t have to humor me.”

“I mean it! I’ll even steal some of your bad jokes.”

“My jokes are perfect.”

Now Qrow laughed. “You’re a bad liar, Oz, and a worse comic.”

His teacher looked at him, eyebrows knitting. “You really mean to go into teaching?”

“Well, yeah. If I can…if I can make a difference like you have, I think…I think I have to.”

Oz stared at him, eyes wide, and then quietly dissolved into tears.

Qrow, alarmed at this sudden display of vulnerability, froze. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping them away as they streamed down his face. He took off his glasses and reached for the stack of paper towels on the lab bench. “I – I just – “

“It’s okay,” Qrow said. “I get it.” He reached out and took Oz’s hand instinctively, squeezing his fingers tightly.

Oz looked at their hands in surprise, his tears stopping abruptly. His face changed, disbelief and a mix of other things too confusing to read.

Then the phone rang, and the moment shattered. 

Oz pulled away violently, a dark flush blooming on pale cheeks, picking up the phone with shaking hands, and the conversation was over.

Graduation was a blessing and a curse, students lined up in the June heat in awful red polyester gowns, five hundred names read off to a crowd of family and friends who just wanted to get out of the sun. It dragged on forever before Qrow’s name was called, and he bounced up to take the diploma and shake the principle’s hand, scampering off immediately after, his teachers calling after him for the early escape.

He found Oz in his classroom, quietly toiling, stripping the room of another year’s memories to start fresh once again. 

“Hey, Oz.”

Oz turned around, eyes widening. For a moment, he said nothing, simply regarding Qrow’s presence like a ghost. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but his lips twitched. “But you look – well. Congratulations, Qrow. I’m…prouder than you can know.”

Qrow grinned. “I just wanted to see you again. One more time before college, you know?”

Oz’s smile was genuine, sad and happy and all the conflicting emotions he showed all at once. “I know,” he said.

“I won’t be a stranger,” Qrow said. “I’ll text. Keep in touch.”

“I…sincerely hope you do,” Oz said. 

A more naïve student may have read too much into that, forever hopeful that an adult – a married man, a teacher – would ever return the feelings Qrow carried. But Qrow was content with this, whatever this was, and took the bittersweet emotions that Oz gave him. 

Oz shot a look over his shoulder – as though someone were watching – and crossed the room, pulling Qrow into an abrupt hug, an act of impulse before his usual nerves caught up. Qrow froze, then melted, drawing up his arms to keep Oz against him. He smelled like dry eraser cleaner and coffee, familiar scents by now that only brought a warmth to Qrow’s belly.

Qrow could stay in his arms forever and it would always be too short.

“Ozpin?”

A woman’s voice echoed from outside the door. Oz jerked at the sound, pushing Qrow away from him, one hand gripping his wrist so tightly that Qrow winced. 

“Go,” he urged, his voice a hiss. “Through the back. The door in the stockroom. Don’t let her see you.”

He pushed Qrow past him, his face contorted.

_Fear._

“Go!” Oz said again, when Qrow remained frozen. “Please, just – “

Qrow ran. He pulled the hat from his head and tucked it under his arm, tearing his eyes away from the horrible, desperate expression on Oz’s face.

He kept running, off campus and to Tai’s place, where he spent the rest of the day getting spectacularly drunk and trying to forget it all. 

For ten years, that look on Oz’s face haunted him.

He never called. Never texted. And he never forgot.

It was the right thing to do. To stop pushing himself and his needs on Oz. To let Oz stop protecting him from the wife Qrow knew hit him.

He was wrong to let it go for as long as he did.

And now, ten years later, Qrow was going to do it all over again. 

He crushed the beer can in his hand and tossed it in the back of the van.

“Easy,” Tai said. “We haven’t even gotten there yet.”

Qrow took a long breath. “Yeah, well. Not sure I ever really left.”

That much was true. When Tai pulled into the same old parking lot, the school looked exactly the same: concrete walkways and wilted summer grass, the brick red rooftops on ivory-painted classrooms. Tai shut off the engine, shooting Qrow a look. 

“Qrow…” He struggled for words. “Do you have a plan?”

“Nope,” Qrow said, climbing out of the car. “Drink a few beers, and play it by ear.”

Tai followed, lifting the truck. “Sounds like you.”

“You think he’ll even be here? He’s a superintendent now. I don’t think they come to reunions.”

Taiyang shrugged. “If it’s killing you so much, let’s go find out.”

Qrow looked at the old ice chest, memories of sunsets in this parking lot filling him, blood orange sky and pink clouds, the laughter of the skaters while the rejects and the jocks bonded over Tai’s shitty car and shittier beer, tipsy teens finding solace in the fact that no matter their popularity or lack thereof, they were all miserable in similar ways.

“All right,” Qrow said. “Let’s go.” He checked the flask in his coat pocket, shaking it appreciatively. 

The auditorium hadn’t changed beyond a coat of paint and shiny new bleachers, red and white streamers hanging from the rafters, balloons tied to tables covered in cheap plastic. 

“It looks like shit,” Qrow said, and laughed, the whole situation suddenly hilarious. “Feels like home.”

Tai grinned. “Come on, check in is over there.”

Qrow let Tai drag him through the social niceties, getting a cup of awful, bright red punch, giving his name to the enthusiastic woman with the name tags, nodding like he remembered her as well as she seemed to remember him, his eyes skimming the auditorium impatiently, looking for former and current teachers amongst the ageing millennials. He pulled the flash from his pocket and took a generous gulp, ignoring the look of concern on the woman at the table.

“Excuse me, Qrow, but you can’t – “

And then he saw him.

Across the auditorium, Ozpin Pine stood with the old football coach and a few strangers.

Qrow felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Oz hadn’t changed at all, and yet he had entirely. His suit was tailored and expensive, his shoes beyond the humble chemistry teacher paycheck. His hair was starkly silver now, not a hint of his former color, making him look paler than ever.

Qrow was too far away to see if there was still a ring on his finger.

“Qrow, the flask – “

“Yeah, sure, I’ll put it away,” he said absently to the woman whose name he had already forgotten.

_Here goes._

He poured another half shot down his throat and marched across the room.

The whiskey’s burn offered a kick of motivation, of pure, stupid gall to approach his old – current? – crush and toss his feelings on him like an animal trap.

In front of whoever he happened to be talking to.

_Good plan._

Qrow halted just behind Oz, drinking in the details of his old teacher. New shoes and suit aside, he was still Oz, and every single goddamn warm fluttery feeling erupted just by being this close to him again.

_I’m a dumbass school kid again with a stupid fucking crush._

Another second and he’d lose his tipsy nerve.

He cleared his throat.

The football coach – what was his name? Ironwood? – looked up first, along with the blonde chick with him. Oz seemed to take an eternity to turn around.

And then several things happened all at once. Oz’s face, blank and expectant, froze in an expression of absolute shock, his lips parting soundlessly, eyes dropping from Qrow’s face to his name tag and then back to his face, studying the changes made by ten years’ absence.

Then he went pale – _white._

Then he turned very pink.

“Hey, Oz,” Qrow said, managing a smile that felt more like a smirk, his mouth suddenly not working.

Oz stared for another eternity, finally swallowing, a hand over his mouth. 

_He’s not wearing a wedding ring._

“Qrow,” he said, breathless.

Ten years Qrow had waited to hear his name in Oz’s voice again.

“It’s been a while,” Qrow said.

A stupid, meaningless statement, but if Qrow didn’t say something stupid and meaningless, he’d say something stupid and meaning _ful_ -

“You know, I had the biggest fucking crush on you,” he said.

_Like that._

Well, it was done now, so fuck it.

Oz went scarlet, a sharp contrast with his silver hair and black suit.

Behind him, the blonde woman giggled, shooting Qrow a wink.

“I – Qrow, I – “

Oz’s stammering was fucking adorable, that successful suit and shoes not enough to conceal what Qrow already knew: that Oz was just as awkward and bashful as ever, and that Qrow’s confession had unnerved him so thoroughly it would take ten minutes for him to be able to speak again.

“Look, it’s all right,” Qrow said. “Just had to clear the air, you know. After so many years. You don’t have to feel the same.”

Oz opened his mouth, but the blonde interjected. 

“Oh,” she said knowingly, “he does.”

And she pushed Oz at Qrow, the older man stumbling into his arms, the cup of punch hitting the floor and leaving a bloodied splash across the off-white linoleum. 

_Holy shit._

Maybe it was faulty memories, but Oz felt different in his arms now; Qrow was taller, of course, and his shoulders had broadened. He never did get as tall as Oz but now they felt just equal, like Qrow could support Oz’s weight, helping him find his feet again.

_He feels so fucking good._

Inches away, Qrow could feel the heat of Ozpin’s blush, could smell the scent of expensive cologne, but under that – 

Coffee and cleaning products.

Nothing had changed, except what really mattered.


	3. The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder

Ozpin regarded the reunion as nothing less than mild torture.

He had given his word to James and he would die before he broke that code, but between his usual social anxieties and the strain of polite and uninteresting conversation with students he didn’t recall and the panic of knowing there was the _slimmest_ chance that Qrow Branwen would attend –

Adding an unexpected and horrifying series of psychic predictions involving feelings he had long repressed amplified it all in a way that convinced Ozpin his weak heart would finally give out.

_Why not die in the school auditorium?_

Somehow the fate seemed appropriate.

He dressed on autopilot, black shirt and sage green shirt, black brocade tie, answering the door when James and Glynda arrived.

The so-called psychic eyed him. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“At least I’m honest,” Ozpin said, giving them a half smile.

“You know, tonight is supposed to be special,” Glynda said. “Although if what James says about you is true, nothing I say will keep you from worrying.”

“I’m only an inch from full panic,” Ozpin said. “Shall we?”

Glynda climbed into his car, a smirk on her lips. “So who are you expecting to see there?”

“No one,” Ozpin said shortly, the name of _Qrow Branwen_ on his lips.

Ozpin fell into a heavy silence during the drive, impossible to keep the memories from flooding back, his careful walls and protections cracking the closer they got to the school. His hand itched and he flexed the fingers, catching James’ glance in the rearview, both recognizing the tick to play with his wedding ring, now missing from his hand. 

The white line remained.

Beacon High remained in a state of constancy, like a scene frozen in time by the efforts of maintenance crews. Ozpin hadn’t taught for years, retreating to the safety of administration, of routine meetings and dry conversations, of distance.

Distance from his old classroom, the memories there.

Distance from students.

It was necessary, necessary like the divorce and the distance there, the distance of ten years’ lack of communication, cut off once Qrow Branwen put on a red gown and ran from the chemistry stock room. 

Distance from all of it, all it meant, all the hopes he had once misplaced in a student too young to understand, breaking them both. 

Ten years and it felt fresh, the wounds bleeding freely. 

The auditorium was decorated in the familiar bad taste of proms and sports rallies, music from his college days echoing off the rafters, a banner hanging over the bleachers.

“Welcome Class of 2003.”

_”The number three.”_

Glynda’s voice, confident in his head.

It had to be a coincidence.

His heart beat heavy and desperate in his chest. 

He pulled his pills from his pocket and popped one into his mouth, waiting for the hammering to ease.

“There’s punch,” James remarked uselessly, breaking the silence. “And I think they serve wine at these things now.”

“Do they?” Ozpin asked, glancing around cautiously at strangers’ faces.

“You approved the budget. Don’t you read those things?”

Ozpin allowed a soft laugh. “Yes, I must have. Perhaps in a few minutes, once I’m sure I won’t vomit.”

“I think most people here want to vomit,” Glynda said. “It’s a high school reunion.”

Ozpin took a long breath and held it for a moment, willing his pulse to slow. 

“Oz, are you sure you’re okay?” James asked.

Ozpin laughed, an off, half-wild sound. “Of course. It’s just apparently the most important night of my life, according to your witch.”

Glynda grinned at the title.

“I thought you didn’t believe in psychics.”

Ozpin motioned at the banner.

“Oh, the number three,” Glynda said, unsurprised. 

James looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Ozpin murmured. Maybe the wine was a good idea after all – thin the blood enough to stop his heart from – 

A man cleared his throat behind him, distressingly close.

When Ozpin turned, he felt his heart stop altogether.

Qrow Branwen had facial hair now, a scruff that fit him in a way Ozpin found so perfectly appealing that for a moment he could only stare, a ghost who made Ozpin feel as though he too had died, ripped into a time that no longer existed.

“Hey, Oz.”

His voice was changed, but the inflection of his youth was in there, hidden beneath the soft growl of adulthood, Ozpin almost shivering at the greeting.

_If fate existed, this is what it would feel like._

Qrow offered a smirk, like he knew he would startle Oz this dreadfully. 

“It’s been a while.”

It was the stupidest, most unnecessary comment Qrow could have made, bursting back into his life when he had spent the last six months in desperate recovery and isolation, repressing absolutely everything but the ghost of _him_ most of all – 

“Qrow,” he managed at last, the name strangled. 

_At least things can’t get worse._

“You know, I had the biggest fucking crush on you,” Qrow said.

Without preamble. Without hesitation.

The auditorium became twenty degrees hotter in an instant.

_crush_

_He couldn’t possibly –_

Qrow was speaking again, saying something that might have been an apology while Ozpin heard only plaintive syllables escape his lips, the entire moment more than he could begin to process, and suddenly a push to his back had him stumbling, falling into Qrow’s ready arms –

_this isn’t happening this can’t be_

But when he opened his eyes, Qrow was there, a breath away.

Ozpin thought he would faint from the heat coming from his own face.

“Maybe we should talk privately,” Qrow whispered, the words hot on Ozpin’s lips.

“I – I think so,” Ozpin managed. He gently pushed himself away, feeling the drag of Qrow’s hands down his arms.

His eyes fell on Qrow’s chest, the dark red shirt under the jacket.

_”The color red – but not the color of his shirt.”_

Ozpin noticed the stick of the floor then, the bright red punch splattered at his feet.

_Oh._

But Qrow didn’t let him go entirely, one hand slipping down until he grasped Ozpin’s in his fingers, dragging the older man away, toward the auditorium doors.

_Fresh air. Yes, this is a good idea._

He drank in the cooling summer air, taking great long breaths of it, steadying himself on the walkway railing. For a long moment, he closed his eyes, processing the very real fact that this was happening.

Qrow had come back.

“I don’t wanna push you,” his voice interrupted now, “but I was just wondering if this was a good or bad reaction.”

Ozpin glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. “I…I’m very happy to see you again, Qrow.”

“You sure?” he asked, scruffy face concerned. “Because you kinda look like you want to puke, and usually that’s not the best reaction.”

Ozpin laughed, straightening. “No, I…forgive me, it was just a bit of a shock, and my heart isn’t what it used to be.”

“Right.” Qrow nodded, looking out to where the setting sun painted the sky with orange and red. “Guess I could have eased into the confession.”

Ozpin managed another small laugh. “You always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“Keeps things interesting.”

The conversation was easy, but stilted compared to what Ozpin remembered in his classroom. He steadied his breathing, feeling his pulse begin to slow. Glynda was right, if not about being psychic, then about how he needed to move on. 

He had been afraid for too long, and it was best to air this out here and now.

“…did you really have a crush on me?” Ozpin asked at last.

Qrow snorted. “You really think it’s past tense?”

_Oh._

Ozpin shook his head. “Qrow, it’s been a long time. We’re not the same people.”

“Yeah, I thought of that,” Qrow said. “And I don’t think it matters.”

The frankness of the statement alarmed Ozpin; he looked at the other man blankly.

“I’m…sorry?”

“It doesn’t matter, Oz. Look, I came here to clear the air, but then I saw you and it’s like I just graduated, you know?” Qrow ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Maybe I’m an idiot for coming at all. A sane person woulda gotten over this a million years ago, but I…”

Ozpin remained silent, waiting for Qrow to finish his thought.

“You were the kindest man I’ve ever met,” Qrow said at last. “You were going through some heavy shit and you still spent every goddamn day making an awkward kid feel wanted and understood. And you did, Oz. You wanted me there and you understood me and it honestly saved my fucking life. And so maybe it’s stupid to cling to that, but I say that if I’ve gone ten years looking for someone more perfect than you and haven’t found them, then I’m an idiot not to come here and see if I can get to know who you are now and have the privilege of fallin’ for you all over again.”

Ozpin stared, feeling the hot prickle behind his eyes.

_Oh._

“I…”

_What could anyone say to that?_

“Look, if you’re not into guys or it’s just me and that makes it weird, then that’s all you gotta say. One word, and I’ll leave you alone and stop drudging up bad memories.”

“It’s not that – “

Ozpin cut himself off, horrified by this admission. 

But not before Qrow slowly began to grin.

“So, I was right,” Qrow said.

“What does that mean?” Ozpin asked, indignant for a lack of something more dramatic.

“You always kinda gave off a gay vibe, you know? But I thought it was just wishful thinking.”

_Gay_ vibe? 

Ozpin blinked, trying to process this new information.

“Qrow…”

“Come on, Oz,” Qrow interrupted. “Don’t use that tone. One chance. I know it’s kinda weird, but I’m not eighteen anymore, and you’re not my teacher. And don’t give me that age gap crap, because I know you were fresh out of college back then.”

That much was true. Ozpin was twenty-five when he began at Beacon High, scarcely older than his own students. 

Even so…

“What…are you suggesting?” Ozpin asked at last. “As you said, we…aren’t exactly the same people.”

_Is that really true? Isn’t Qrow just as enthusiastic, just as charming, as he had been years ago?_

He had certainly grown up to be very – 

“One date,” Qrow said. “One date for me to convince you. Tonight, even.”

“Tonight?” Ozpin repeated, and the idea was so insane that he laughed. “Do you really wish to make tonight as awkward as possible?”

“If it can be awkward with you, of fucking course.”

Ozpin looked at him, the quietly pleading expression on his face, the intensity in his eyes that seemed to impress truth and nothing else.

_He’s serious about all of this._

Qrow took his hand in both of his, lifting it until he brushed Ozpin’s hand against his lips. “Please, Oz.”

Ozpin felt the heat rise like a fire under his collar, his heart pounding anew.

“Oh,” he said breathlessly. “Well. If…if you insist.”

And the grin was back, that self-satisfied expression that made Ozpin strangely warm, knowing he had put it there.

“Come on, I’ll get you a drink and we can catch up. Gotta use this date wisely, you know.”

Ozpin followed him back inside as though in a dream. Qrow sped off to the refreshments table and Ozpin wandered back to James and Glynda, who regarded his shocked expression with concern.

“He…he asked me out,” Ozpin said, without preamble. “And I think I said yes.”

James’ eyes grew, a grin following. “Did you?”

“Well,” Ozpin said. “He asked if tonight could be a date, and then he – he kissed my hand and I don’t quite recall the rest.”

Glynda made a long _mmhmmm_ noise, like a pleased cat. 

“You don’t think it’s unethical, do you?” Ozpin asked James. “He was my student…”

“That was a long time ago, Oz,” James said.

Ozpin nodded slowly, still reeling from the pacing of the evening. “He…he did grow up quite…well.”

“He’s a looker,” Glynda agreed.

James shot her a side glance.

“What?” Glynda said. “He has a nice ass.”

Ozpin looked back at the refreshment table without thinking, eyes drifting to confirm. Only a moment too late did he realize what he had done, and flushed hotly.

Glynda laughed lowly.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” Ozpin said, embarrassment creeping into his stomach like an illness. “I don’t know if I…”

Glynda clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and then the worn tarot cards appeared again. “If you want the universe to reassure you…”

Ozpin looked at the cards, and then at James.

Was he so desperate to believe all this that he would grasp at straws?

He reached out and drew a card from the center of the deck.

_Evidently._

“The Two of Swords,” Glynda remarked, the card showing a man stabbed by two great blades. “You are in denial about what has happened, and rather than owning up to what you have done, you prefer to bury your head in the sand and keep your eyes closed. Tsk. So much guilt over something that was not wholly yours to bear.”

_Impossible._

It was impossible for her to know so much, things he had not told a soul.

“Let yourself have a little fun,” she said, more gently.

Qrow appeared then with two flutes of champagne, Glynda slipping the cards back into her bag.

“Hey, Oz,” Qrow said again, as though pleased he simply had the opportunity.

The smile broke free by its own strength.

“Hello, Qrow,” he said, and began to think, for the first time, that perhaps none of this was wrong to feel at all.


	4. I prattle Something too wildly

The evening continued like a dream, Ozpin feeling the warmth of the summer night and the bubbles of the champagne, sitting on the school bleachers with an old student – an old friend.

_A possible lover._

The thought brought heat to Ozpin’s face and a pleasant flutter to his stomach, at odds with the nervousness he had suffered before he arrived at the reunion. The shock of the past catching up so abruptly faded now to something familiar, warm and soft, like going back to one’s childhood home.

Different, but no less comforting.

But they had parted for so long, and Ozpin found himself aching to know what had become of his favorite student, the one he had risked so much for, who had come back to him.

“Considering this is our first date,” Ozpin said, trying very hard not to blush at the words, “please, tell me what you’ve done with your life.”

Qrow grinned.

“What?”

“Our first date,” Qrow repeated.

His voice was so hopeful that Ozpin looked away, butterflies exploding in his gut.

It was an odd thing, someone telling him _so frankly_ that he was wanted.

Ozpin coughed, lifting his wine to his lips. “I remember you telling me once that you would follow my footsteps and become a chemistry teacher yourself.”

Qrow hummed. “I did,” he said.

“…really?”

“Come on, Oz, don’t look at me like that. I had good grades. Eventually.”

Ozpin laughed.

_How long since I have laughed this much in one evening?_

“I did not mean to suggest otherwise. I merely thought…after that day…”

“That you traumatized me so badly I hated the idea?” Qrow finished, all bluntness. “Yeah, well. Look, I don’t want to get into the heavy shit yet, but yeah. It did at first. But I get it. And it didn’t change all the shit you did for me over the years.”

That soft warmth lit anew inside Ozpin’s chest, eyes dropping to his champagne. 

“Besides, I’m not a chem teacher exactly,” Qrow said. “General science at Signal Middle. Not too far from here.”

“Middle school,” Ozpin remarked. “You’re brave.”

Qrow chuckled, a deep, gravely sound that made Ozpin smile. “Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll inspire any kids to become NASA scientists, but I’m doing some good. You taught me that.”

Ozpin shook his head. “Qrow, you place far too much credit on me. You had all of that potential inside you.”

“Yeah, but who else was gonna dig it out from under all the other shit I had in me? Oz, look, I know you aren’t good with compliments, but you better start, because I think you’re the easiest person to give ‘em to.”

Qrow put a hand on Ozpin’s to make him look up at last, meeting Qrow’s determined gaze.

Ozpin swallowed so hard he could hear it over the music, his heart beginning to race again.

_Oh,_ he thought absently. _I think I want to kiss him._

Qrow seemed to sense it, because he started to lean in, pausing after a moment, pulling back.

_He’s afraid._

Of what? Scaring Ozpin off? 

A fair concern. Ozpin hardly knew what was too much now, or too little.

_We’ll take this slow. We’re both fragile now._

“You wanna dance?” Qrow asked.

“Oh.” A quiet song, something by Nora Jones, echoed overhead, some couples taking advantage of the ease of the tempo to occupy the dance floor.

The lights dimmed on cue.

Ozpin nearly laughed. His first school dance, and he was the superintendent. 

_Stranger things had happened._

He took Qrow’s offered hand, rising and following him onto the floor. He saw James and Glynda join as well, both turning to give him a wink in unison. 

Qrow’s low chuckle vibrated against Ozpin’s chest as he pulled the older man close. “Friends of yours?”

“You must remember James Ironwood. The football coach? He’s the principal now.”

“No shit. Huh. Things really do change.” Qrow’s hand wrapped around Ozpin’s waist and his heart ricocheted at the simple touch.

He realized abruptly that he hadn’t been touched in a long, _long_ time.

Not like this.

It was almost too much to bear, the feeling of Qrow’s arms around him, strong and firm, pulling Ozpin so tightly against him that their dance was that of teenagers: a gentle sway in place, a quietly desperate need to be pressed together as the room grew dark and warm. Without thinking, Ozpin placed his head on Qrow’s shoulder, unconcerned with who saw this now, simply grasping for what touches he could, his hands reaching up until fingers brushed the bottom of Qrow’s hair.

The younger man let out a heavy breath. 

“Hey, Oz.”

That familiar greeting again, like going home.

“Yes?”

“Just so you know, I’m having some pretty inappropriate thoughts about you right about now.”

Ozpin’s blush was hidden in the darkness, but he didn’t pull away. Somehow, the confession failed to frighten him. Scattered visions of Qrow touching him, his face, his throat, lips seeking out his –

“Is that a warning, or a plan?”

Qrow made a surprised noise that turned into a laugh.

“Wow, you – wow. Eighteen-year-old me would have died if you said something like that.”

A vague ping of discomfort followed that statement, Ozpin recalling where they were, glancing about to see if anyone was staring, if anyone was judging – 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Qrow said, a hand moving up Ozpin’s spine to the back of his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s not your fault,” Ozpin murmured. “This is all…very new territory.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind me asking, how long did you, you know. The divorce.”

“It’s been finalized for just over six months now.”

“Oh. _Oh._ You weren’t kidding.” Qrow took a long breath, his fingers weaving into Ozpin’s hair.

The touch, innocent and soothing, made Ozpin melt against him.

_I never knew how much I –_

“I never actually…” Ozpin steeled the words in his mind, distracted by the pull of Qrow’s fingers in his hair, the sensation making him breathless, too warm. “I never actually came out. Until tonight, apparently.”

“Oh, Christ, Oz.”

“I know, I come with quite a lot of baggage – “

“No, that’s not what I mean. I…didn’t realize this was all…” Qrow made a perplexed noise at the back of his throat. “The way you talk is real subtle and I just thought you were shy.”

“Well. I am.”

“Not like, taking ten years to come out shy.”

Ozpin chuckled despite himself. “No, I suppose I should come with a warning label.”

Qrow hummed. “It’s fine by me. You know, speaking of warning labels…you remember all the shit I pulled in your classes?”

“You will have to be _much_ more specific,” Ozpin said dryly. “There were so many incidents. I’m convinced that had I not covered up some of them, you would have been expelled.”

“Oh, yeah, without a doubt. What was your favorite fuckup of mine? What was that one experiment with the copper? The one where I blew it off the hot plate?”

“The redox lab,” Ozpin said, the memory coming back clearly. “Take copper metal and dissolve it with nitric acid, follow with a series of redox reactions. I remember that _very_ clearly. I specifically told the class to _gradually_ heat the solution in a beaker. You cranked the hot plate up in a flask. It’s a miracle the explosion didn’t hurt anyone.”

Qrow chuckled, dark and enticing. “No, but it hit the ceiling. Rained black metal.”

_”Blackened metal.”_

Glynda’s voice seemed smug even in Ozpin’s head, the prediction coming to mind instantly.

Memories of an overheated flask of copper hydroxide popping off the hot plate, students ducking as the black mixture shot across the lab bench, the ceiling. 

“I – yes, I think the ceiling tiles are still stained.”

_Oh. Maybe fate is real after all._

Was that a comforting thought?

_Have faith have faith –_

“I always leave my mark,” Qrow said, in a tone that clearly meant more than it appeared. “There was one thing I never told you. Once, when you had me grab something from the stock room, I took something.”

“Really?”

“I…opened this silver can. There was a block of metal in it. It was soft and I thought it was cool, so, I – “

Ozpin pulled away to look Qrow in the eye. _”You’re_ the one who stole the sodium metal?”

“Uh. Yeah. I didn’t know what it was, so I shoved it into my pocket – “

“Oh my god, Qrow.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I kind of forgot about it for a while, until I was walking home and my pants spontaneously caught fire – “

Without warning, Ozpin burst into quiet laughter, shaking against him. 

“Hey! Come on, Oz, I could have burnt my delicate bits – “

“It would have served you right,” Ozpin said, his sides beginning to ache. “You – oh, I don’t believe it – “

“Yeah, well, my pants were fucked, but I managed to strip on the street fast enough that I got away with just a few minor burns. Had to walk home in my boxers. Well, what was left of ‘em.”

Ozpin wiped at tears in his eyes. “I should have known. Only you would be so foolish.”

“I’ll have you know there were plenty of other dumbasses in your class who would have on a dare.”

“A dare, eh?”

“Tai’s idea. You remember Taiyang Xiao Long?”

“I remember you once convinced him to drink a buffer solution during a titration experiment.”

“Hah, yeah, that’s him.”

“You always had the most charming friends.”

“If you think they were charming, you should get to know me again. So, Oz, what do you think? Do you have eleven protons? Because I think you’re sodium fine.”

Ozpin made a noise of surprise. “Oh no,” he said. “I haven’t decided whether I like you enough for bad chemistry pick-up lines.”

“No? How about a little more alcohol to catalyze that reaction?”

“Qrow.”

“Let's get together sometime. You bring your beaker and I'll bring my stirring rod.”

_”Qrow.”_

“If you were an element you'd be Francium because you're the most attract – “

Without thinking, Ozpin pressed his lips against Qrow’s mouth, to shut him up or to stop the silly lines or to just know how it felt –

And it felt _good._

Qrow reacted instantly, his grip on Ozpin’s waist tightening, fingers digging into his hips, mouth roving across Ozpin’s lips, the touches and reciprocation sparking a fire in Ozpin’s gut until it took every ounce of willpower to pull away, pushing Qrow off until he was at arm’s length.

Qrow looked shaken, shocked and somehow predatory, as though what Ozpin gave him wasn’t enough, and Ozpin let out a harsh breath, his blood alight with something wholly new and utterly consuming. 

_It felt_ very _good._

But not here, not in the darkness surrounded by strangers.

“Would you like to get some air?” Ozpin asked, still struggling for breath.

“Yeah,” Qrow barked, grabbing Ozpin’s wrist and pulling him off the dance floor.

_He sounds angry._

Had Ozpin made a move too quickly? The signs had been there, the undeniable energy that Ozpin still felt in the simple touch of Qrow’s fingers around his wrist, in the taste of his skin – 

Qrow shoved the doors open and pulled Ozpin into the warm night, the music fading to the gentle chirp of crickets as Qrow lead them toward a parking lot.

After an evening of constant chatter, Qrow was silent now, his grip on Ozpin’s wrist almost too tight, the older man convinced now that he had done something wrong – 

“Qrow, I’m sorry if I – “

Qrow pulled Ozpin around the corner of the music building, facing the parking lot, shoving him against the wall, his mouth reclaiming Ozpin’s instantly, his tongue pushing past Ozpin’s surprised lips – 

_Oh. Oh oh oh –_

This was new, this passion, this mutual electricity, the shiver of his skin and the fluttering of his stomach as Qrow pressed against him. Qrow’s hands were everywhere simultaneously: in Ozpin’s hair, traveling down his cheek, his down his throat, his shoulder, wrapping around his waist to pull him against –

_OH._

Ozpin was panting now, surprised by the flood of unfamiliar sensations, of how much he _wanted_ this – 

Then his phone rang.

Ozpin froze, his breath catching violently, his body turning cold.

_No._

Not now. Not her.

Not again.

“No,” he whispered aloud.

_No no no no no_

Qrow paused, drawing his lips from Ozpin’s throat. “Oz?” he said, his voice hoarse. 

_It couldn’t be._

“I – I…” Ozpin’s hands shook as he reached for the phone in his pocket, searching for the name on his screen.

_James._

Of course. 

His hands trembled so much he dropped the phone, Qrow bending to retrieve it.

“Is it cool if I…?”

Still shaking, Ozpin nodded.

The evening had turned _so cold –_

“Hey – James, right? Yeah, this is Qrow. No, he’s with me. Uh. Yeah, he’s okay. I got him. Sure. Thanks.”

Qrow disconnected and the phone disappeared into his back pocket, where Ozpin couldn’t see it.

“Jesus, Oz, you’re shaking…”

Yes, he was, but he couldn’t stop it now, his entire body shivering as though in the throes of hypothermia, clutching his hands in fists against his chest, forcing one quivering breath into his lungs after another, counting the seconds between them, _fight it off, don’t let him see you like this –_

Qrow embraced him and Ozpin’s breath stopped, tensing against the touch, but Qrow’s hands were careful now, an expert’s touch of something fragile, something threatening to crack under the pressure of _too much –_

“It’s all right, Oz. She’s not here. I am.”

The murmur in his ear slipped down further, into his chest, the tightness ebbing. He reached with quaking hands to pull Qrow against him, feeling the warmth of his weight, the softness of his reassuring whispers, making their way through his blood, his bones, until gently, gently, the trembling eased, Ozpin taking long breaths of the balmy air, the panic subsiding to the coaxing comfort of the man who held him.

Qrow pulled away enough to search Ozpin’s face, to reach out with a hand and wipe at the tears there.

“So,” he said, with a wry half-smile. “Maybe we need to talk about the heavy shit.”

_He stayed. He’s not leaving me._

Ozpin managed a shaky chuckle. “I think I owe you that much.”

“Come on. I know a place.”

Qrow pulled him – all gentleness now, none of his earlier aggressive passion evident – into the parking lot. Ozpin opened his mouth to question it, but then a minivan flashed its lights and he realized – 

“A van?”

Qrow laughed. “Not just a van.” He lifted the back door, motioning dramatically to the interior. “Ta-da!”

Ozpin blinked.

All the back of the van offered was a battered ice chest.

“What…?”

Qrow opened the ice chest, pulling a can of beer out and placing it in Ozpin’s hands. He pulled another out for himself, cracking the lid without hesitation.

Ozpin looked at the beer in disbelief. “Michelob Ultra,” he read aloud.

“Don’t knock it, Oz. It’s low carb.”

The sheer absurdity of the moment caught up and Ozpin laughed, shaking his head.

“Thank you,” he said, and opened the beer, joining Qrow on the bumper of the van, ignoring the idea of the dirt on his freshly dry-cleaned suit. “Did you really plan to sit out here all night and drink?”

“Only if you weren’t here,” Qrow said. “Or if you were and I couldn’t deal. Or if you said no.”

Ozpin listened to this with the distinct impression Qrow was being perfectly honest.

How strange to think his existence meant so much to someone else.

Someone who deserved the truth of what he was getting into.

“Qrow…” He paused, trying to regroup, to decide where to start.

“It’s all right, Oz. Take your time.”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“What’s her name?”

“Oh.” 

_Of course. Her name._

“Salem,” Ozpin said, the name both frightening to say aloud and somehow cathartic. 

“Tell me about her.”

“We…were high school sweethearts. We married young – too young. It was nice, at first. When you’re young everything seems possible, the potential endless. For a while it was. I…don’t remember precisely when things began to turn. I suppose that sort of thing happens over time, when you aren’t paying attention.”

Qrow listened intently, nodding to let Ozpin know to continue.

“Maybe we were just naïve, thinking we could – well. We argued more than I would care to admit. I hated it, the way she got when she was angry. I started to give into her side of things more often. Compromise, a way to keep the peace.”

Ozpin sighed, taking a gulp of beer to steady his nerves. “It’s not bad,” he said.

Qrow smiled. “Told ya.”

“Anyway…what I thought was compromise was…more akin to abandoning myself, in bits and pieces. It never felt like much, each time, just a promise to change myself in some small way or another, because it kept her happy, and I wanted her happy. But over the years, I realized that every behavior I had left was at her approval, and any time I dared act against that, I risked her wrath.”

“She hit you,” Qrow said, his voice hard.

“Not at first,” Ozpin said, the words pouring from him now, a dam breaking under the encouragement of a crack. “No, she…she looked for reasons to be angry with me. I worked too long at the school, so I began coming home earlier and doing my lesson planning there. She seemed convinced that any moment I was not at home, I was…”

“With someone.”

Ozpin swallowed, lifting the beer to his lips again. “Yes. I started letting her read my emails, check my online history…”

Qrow’s expression cleared. “She read your texts.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Ozpin said quickly, “and I never meant for her to read them. Even though I had nothing to hide, she had no right to – to any _part_ of you – “

“Oz, it’s okay.”

Ozpin drew a shaky breath. “She threw every accusation at me. That I was interested in men, boys, that I groomed my own students – “ His voice cracked and he paused, regulating his breathing.

Qrow’s face remained blank. “She broke your arm.”

Ozpin looked away.

“That’s why she started calling every day at lunch,” Qrow said, the rest of the pieces falling into place. “To check in. And that’s why you had me stay as quiet as possible.”

“I…I didn’t want to turn you away. I couldn’t bear to. And so I worked with what I had, for as long as I could.”

“Jesus, Oz.”

“It took me eight more years to come to my senses,” Ozpin said. “It was so easy to listen to her, that it was my fault. She wasn’t violent – I made her that way. And for years, I believed that. I left her two years ago. The divorce was ugly. She made it…linger. And until six months ago, I was required to take her calls.”

Qrow nodded, draining his beer. “How many bones did she break?”

Ozpin’s throat closed. “…I lost count. Both arms. A few ribs. Other injuries that wouldn’t leave…”

“Marks?”

“Records.”

Qrow closed his eyes, drawing a long breath.

“I’m sorry to put all this on you,” Ozpin said. “You came here for…well. Not this.”

“Oz.” Qrow tossed his beer can into the van, taking Ozpin’s empty hand in his. “I came here for you. The fact that you’re here and you’re…” He sighed, squeezing Ozpin’s hand. “When I said I came here for you, I came here for every fucking part of you. Even this one.”

Ozpin’s breath shifted in his lungs, eyes prickling.

“Oh,” he said.

“You just…you gotta realize this isn’t your fault.”

“That’s the worst part of it, however,” Ozpin said, his fingers gripping Qrow’s hand tightly. “I…it might have been.”

“What d’you mean?”

“She wasn’t wrong. I…I’m bisexual. I think.”

Qrow gave him a lopsided grin. “Join the club, Oz.”

“It’s not just that. I…your crush may not have been unrequited.”

Qrow’s face went completely blank. 

“What?”

Ozpin looked away, still holding onto Qrow’s hand. “I don’t know if I can explain it. It wasn’t…inherently romantic. But in you I had someone I felt I could trust, that I could talk to freely without fear. I thought…that I might love you, in some manner, if I could only be fortunate enough to be something like that to you.”

“Oz…”

“But you were eighteen, and I…wasn’t, and I was your teacher and I had every reason to disregard something so unethical – “

_”Oz.”_

Ozpin paused, meeting Qrow’s eyes.

“I’m not eighteen anymore.”

Ozpin grasped for a response to that, but words failed him and he simply stared helplessly.

“Sometimes you just gotta let that brain of yours have a rest,” Qrow said, “and have a little faith that things will work out.”

Ozpin felt himself deflate, the panicked energy slowly leaving his body. Suddenly, he was exhausted, leaning against the frame of the van with all the heaviness of the night’s revelations.

For the first time he could remember, someone was telling him that all of this was okay.

That he was safe.

_Safe._

He hadn’t dared think it before.

But Qrow was here now, offering the protection Ozpin had once granted him, and suddenly, the workings of the universe didn’t seem so foreign after all.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Qrow said, his voice soft. “Is that all right?”

“God, yes,” Ozpin said without thinking, and then Qrow pulled him close, seeking out his mouth again, the taste of beer and salted skin, comfort and familiarly and strangeness and desire all at once, and Ozpin thought that this was the strangest and most wonderful date he could ever imagine.


	5. O brave new world

The evening felt, to Qrow, like a conflicting struggle of good and bad luck, of awkward reunions and awful revelations, of quiet comforts and rising pulses.

Good luck was finally winning. 

Qrow ran his tongue along Ozpin’s lips and he parted them, obedient – Qrow would have worried about the implications of that, but Ozpin pressed back with renewed energy and so Qrow tossed the worry into the back of his mind. Ozpin’s kisses were reserved, that shyness slowly melting as Qrow leaned over him, climbing over the bumper of the van to straddle the older man.

He didn’t care that Ozpin struggled with recovery; he didn’t care that some bitch was stupid enough not to realize what she once had. All that mattered now was Ozpin, the fragile kindness and warmth of a soul that deserved to be revered, healed in a way that Qrow knew how to heal, a mingling of spirits both similarly broken. Qrow found emotions complicated and Ozpin’s guilt especially so, but to him this was all very, very simple: Qrow wanted Ozpin, Ozpin wanted him.

He forgot the rest.

He settled onto Ozpin’s lap, hands in Ozpin’s constantly messy hair, feeling the softness of the roots along his fingertips ( _had it felt different before it went silver?_ ), feeling the pace of Ozpin’s kisses, accelerating them and slipping his tongue inside. Ozpin made a quiet whimper – surprise – but his hands clenched at Qrow’s jacket.

_Desperate._

Of course he was. Everything in the world made him that way, and Qrow was just as desperate to give him everything he wanted. Qrow slipped his coat from his shoulders, breaking the kiss for a moment – stealing one, two, three more as he worked it off – and paused, watching Ozpin’s expression change, brown eyes widening, locked on the undone buttons of Qrow’s dress shirt, on the exposed collarbones – 

_He wants me. He wants –_

The thought of it drove Qrow mad, all these years and it was like the release of a great storm; he cupped Ozpin’s face in his hands and kissed him again, Ozpin’s fingers digging into Qrow’s hips. 

“I think,” Qrow said, his voice breathless, “we could do with some privacy.” He nodded toward the inside of the van and Ozpin gave him an incredulous look (his pupils large now, his lips red from friction, his hair fussed and beautiful, _beautiful_ ). But he moved, climbing into the van and slipping over the back seats while Qrow struggled to close the trunk behind him. With a _slam_ it was done, and Qrow vaulted himself over the seats, landing on Ozpin with a grunt.

Ozpin laughed, Qrow’s body vibrating with the sound. 

“This is…ridiculous,” Ozpin said.

“This is high school, baby,” Qrow said, grinning. “Drinking beer in the parking lot, makin’ out in your mom’s minivan…”

“Please tell me this vehicle doesn’t belong to your mother.”

“Nah, it’s Tai’s. Don’t worry, he won’t know.”

“That’s not – “

Qrow cut him off with a kiss, tongue sliding against Ozpin’s teeth. He took Ozpin’s hand and placed it on his chest, pulling a button open like a puppeteer.

Ozpin’s eyes went wide, his fingers trailing until they reached the next button, fingertips hesitating before running along the bare skin there. Qrow broke the kiss and sat up, pulling at Ozpin’s tie, his shirt – five seconds and he’d be half naked – placing entire palms on the flesh there, white and unmarked, delicate pink nipples just begging to be – 

Qrow bent to take one in his mouth and Ozpin shuddered violently, his hands faltering in their job. Qrow seized them and placed them firmly on his ass, chuckling as Ozpin gasped. Maybe Qrow was pushing things too quickly, but somehow, Ozpin’s little shocked reactions didn’t seem a bad thing, just a man who needed to get laid _real badly._

As though to confirm, Ozpin, his face still shell-shocked, slowly squeezed his hands, his lips parting as he explored Qrow’s body.

“I thought as much,” he whispered, quivering as Qrow ran his tongue along Ozpin’s ear.

“What’s that, Oz?”

“You have a fantastic ass.”

Qrow laughed too loudly in Ozpin’s ear, making up for it by taking the lobe in his mouth and sucking. Ozpin _writhed_ at that, a soft, suppressed moan escaping his lips.

“Don’t be quiet on my account,” Qrow growled. “I want to hear you, Oz.” 

He ground his hips along Ozpin’s, already feeling himself growing hard ( _could you blame him? with this beautiful man under him, shaking at his touch_ ), and Oz bucked slightly, his mouth forming a silent O.

“Ah,” Qrow said knowingly, Oz giving him a questioning glance as Qrow lifted his hips, reaching below to grab –

Oz’s head fell back with a smothered whine, Qrow grinning victoriously as he ran his hand over Oz’s obvious erection, fingers tracing the outline ( _mmm, yes,_ Qrow was certain he could fit that much in his mouth), roving up the zipper, tugging on it gently, the action a question.

Oz, pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, gave a tiny nod, and then Qrow had his pants undone, pulling the waistband down with desperate speed, shuffling as he dragged them off completely ( _Oz is a boxers guy, which is not what Qrow guessed_ ); his own clothes followed, tearing his shirt off while Ozpin watched, his face an open book of fevered lust now, his hands finally moving on their own to explore, running up Qrow’s torso, hesitantly running fingers over his chest, nipples, as though trying to memorize the details of him while Qrow struggled with his own pants ( _car sex was always a fucking nightmare, hadn’t he learned that in high school_ ) –

Qrow tore off pants and boxers at once, hearing Oz’s breath catch at his sudden nudity, eyes, following the thin trail of dark hair down Qrow’s abdomen to his cock ( _which could really use some damn attention, Oz, if you could stop being so fucking shy_ ). He twisted to toss the clothes onto the middle seat when he felt the sudden grip, a warm hand wrapping around him and moving up –

“Oh, fuck, Oz,” he groaned, the heat sending sparks up his groin.

_Oz grabbed my dick holy fucking shit –_

Oz’s boxers followed suit, Qrow tearing them off without ceremony, his original plan of taking his time thrown into oblivion along with their clothes ( _of course Oz was still wearing his jacket and open shirt but fuck it there wasn’t time_ ) and then he shifted until he could press their hips together, rutting against Oz again and again and Oz moaned softly again, hands rising to grasp at Qrow’s shoulders. 

But as fucking _fantastic_ as that felt, Qrow’s need to see and feel and _taste_ won over the pleasure of dry-humping, and he slipped further down Oz’s body until he knelt on the car floor ( _just like he thought, Oz’s dick was just as perfect as the rest of him, the same fucking shade of pink as Oz’s blush_ ) and took Oz in his hands, running one under his balls, Oz’s note of surprise so fucking cute, the jerk of his head to see what Qrow was doing, the fucking _loud_ moan he let out when Qrow’s mouth descended on him, hot and tight ( _he tasted like salt and musk and the faint, sharp sting of soap, his size enough just to make Qrow choke a bit if he wasn’t careful_ ).

He pumped Oz a few times, running his tongue along his length and watching Oz twitch, his hands gripping the car seat with white knuckles ( _each one of his breaths now was a repeated syllable oh oh oh oh_ ) and Qrow was sure he had never seen anything so pure and so perfect –

Qrow’s groin pulsed painfully, begging for what was displayed so fucking spectacularly in front of him.

He released Oz abruptly to climb over the middle seats and reached the glove compartment, fishing in the dark.

“…Qrow?”

“One sec, babe.”

_Babe._

Sure, Qrow was channeling some kind of bizarre romcom protagonist now, saving the damsel in distress and flinging himself right into monogamy before the first date was over, but he didn’t care. This was Oz, _Oz,_ and that meant doing things _right._

Even if it was in the back of his brother-in-law’s fucking minivan.

He flopped back onto Oz, giving him a nudge of their hips together ( _even their dicks fit well next to each other, or else Qrow was so fucking far gone now that he was looking for sappy shit even in the middle of hasty sex_ ) while he popped the lid off the tube he retrieved.

Ozpin looked up at the sound, his chest heaving with desire, eyes clearing when they recognized the bottle.

“Maybe a stupid question,” Qrow said, his voice hoarse, his dick fucking _swearing_ at him to hurry the fuck up –

“This is your first time doing this, right?”

“I…I’m not a virgin, Qrow.”

“Yeah, marriage and all that. I mean, with a guy – do you prefer bein’ top, or…?”

“Oh.” Ozpin blinked, flushing darker. “I…don’t know.”

“Right. Like I said. Ass virgin.”

“Qrow – “

“Look, I’m not usually on bottom, but for you, I mean…”

_You’re killing the fucking mood._

“I’m gonna be straight with you, Oz, I’m dying a little holdin’ myself back from fucking you into next week.”

_Well, fuck, that was that._

Oz’s face went very red now, his eyes dropping.

Moment ruined.

_I’m gonna die of blue balls and it’s my own fucking fault._

“Then why don’t you?”

_What._

Qrow looked at him, positive he didn’t hear that right.

“What?”

Ozpin cleared his throat, meeting Qrow’s eyes. “Why don’t you fuck me into next week?”

Oh.

_Oh, fuck._

“Jesus,” Qrow said, fumbling desperately with the bottle of lube. “Fuckin’ – rude thing to – too fuckin’ hot – “

Oz laughed quietly at Qrow’s stammering, watching with obscene interest as he coated his fingers.

“I just want you to breathe, Oz, all right? I swear I’m good at this.”

“I have no complaints so far,” Oz murmured, closing his eyes when Qrow’s fingers prodded at his ass ( _fuck, I haven’t had a good look at his ass yet have I_ ) and Qrow silently cursed.

Something about Oz’s ability to say shit like that in a moment like this was completely unfair, but Qrow would have the last laugh when he –

“Oh!” The syllable was moan and exhale all at once, Oz’s face a series of reactions, surprise and pleasure combined – 

One finger.

_Fuckin’ hell he felt nice inside, hot and tight and -_

Oz’s breathing quickened, his eyes open and wide again. 

“Bad ‘oh’ or good ‘oh’?”

“G-good,” Oz managed. “Oh. _Ah._ V-very good.”

Qrow chuckled. “Keep breathing, Oz.” He prodded and pulled out, then in, watching Oz’s reactions, the soft panting, the eyes fluttered closed, the gentlest undulation of his hips in time with Qrow’s wrist. Carefully, Qrow edged his middle finger in and Oz gave a long, soft sigh.

_Two._

“How’s that?”

“That – that’s… _lovely.”_

Qrow’s cock throbbed.

_He’s a fuckin’ perfect bottom and I’m not gonna live through this._

A bit more, and Qrow could end his own torture. 

_Three._

Qrow gently pulled, stretching Oz with each flick of his wrist. Oz’s hips moved on their own now, coaxing Qrow’s fingers in, clenching them tightly inside, Qrow swallowing the almost unbearable thought of his dick taking their place. He shifted his fingers to reach up further –

“OH, Qrow – !”

Ozpin’s back arched violently, the cry ripped from his lips.

Qrow laughed darkly.

“Wha – what was – “

“That’s your sweet spot,” Qrow said. “Want more of th – “

_”Yes,”_ Oz hissed, his eyes almost all pupil now.

_Desperation at its fuckin’ hottest._

“Ask and you will receive,” Qrow said, carefully withdrawing his hand. Another squeeze of the lube, a quick slather over his dick, and he lined himself up against Oz, shutting his eyes against the quiet whimper the older man made.

He eased in slowly ( _every primal urge screaming to do the opposite, to take what was his, what was before him –_ ), hissing at the soft heat that clenched around him so fucking sweetly, pulling him in further. He leaned over Oz, hands gripping at his hips as he finally paused, fully inside ( _Oz was trembling again, around him, but his face wore an expression of perfect fucking bliss_ ).

With a slowness that threatened to kill him, Qrow began to thrust.

Oz’s breath devolved into a long, continuous moan, eyes scrunched closed, knuckles white as his hands gripped at Qrow’s shoulders.

“God, _Qrow – “_

Oz’s head fell back, his hips meeting Qrow’s thrusts, his fingernails digging into Qrow’s waist, each breath a hot exhale, Qrow groaning at the eagerness, the sound of his name in _that_ tone –

He held his pace slow, sweat sliding down his temples; the night was warm but in the van it was stifling, Qrow’s body screaming for relief, fast, _hard_ but restraining that fever – 

“Qrow…”

“Yeah?” Qrow paused, feeling Oz pulse around him, swallowing the moan.

“I – I’m not made of glass.”

“What?” 

Oz offered a shaky smile, reaching up to push Qrow’s sweat-damp hair from his eyes. “You’re holding back. Don’t.”

Qrow blinked. “Yeah, but – “

“Don’t,” Oz said again. “Don’t hide anything from me.”

_Show me how you feel about me,_ he said, between the lines.

Without a word, Qrow thrust inside roughly, his skin slapping against Oz’s ass, digging his fingers into the softness of Oz’s waist (Oz cried out, his back arching dramatically), repeating the action once, twice, feeling the van begin to quiver with them, Qrow groaning with the old metal, feeling like this was some kind of fucking heaven – 

Ozpin’s noises were half-mangled moans and sobs now as Qrow drove into him, the hot wetness like a fucking drug, Qrow’s blood alight with it, needing it more than anything, more than the ragged breaths he drew. He seized one of Oz’s legs and pushed it toward his chest, giving him a new angle and watching Oz _writhe_ and moan, wondering if the man would cum without Qrow even –

But now Qrow was close and he released Oz’s leg to grab his cock, Oz’s moan choked off ( _breathe, Oz, breathe_ ), the two moving together now, Qrow’s thrusts meeting the rise and fall of Oz’s enthusiastic hips, Qrow leaning over him to swallow his moans, to feel him tremble as Qrow’s hand stroked his cock, coaxing him closer to – 

Ozpin cried out into Qrow’s mouth, his fingers clawing at Qrow’s back, arching anew, Qrow feeling the hot warmth drip over his hand, a smirk appearing as he pounded into Oz, the older man clutching at him desperately as Qrow approached his own release, the heat unbearable now, the frantic pressure of his groin guiding everything now –

_”Oz.”_

_Oh fuck oh fuck_

Qrow groaned, his dick twitching just before he felt the relief, ( _he saw stars and a sharp whiteness in the dark van, his body on fire, the moment of ecstasy exactly that, the noises coming from him now ripped from him, the pleasure unraveling every part of him_ ) his hands gripping Oz so tightly he cried out, pumping until Qrow was empty, until the fever ebbed, until he collapsed, sweaty and weak, on top of his lover.

_Lover._

Oz trembled gently beneath him, his hands on Qrow’s back, his breathing beginning to slacken from the ragged, slowed by the weight of Qrow’s limb body, limp limbs, a pleasant numbness setting in where everything moments ago was fire.

With a long exhale Qrow propped himself up, running a finger along Oz’s damp forehead, brushing the silver hair from his eyes.

Neither spoke but this silence wasn’t like the others, stretching comfortably as Oz’s trembling subsided and he simply lay beneath Qrow, hands running along the young man’s spine, face relaxed. Qrow leaned in to kiss him and Oz’s eyes closed expectantly, accepting the soft press of Qrow’s mouth.

Qrow hummed against him and slowly sat up, resting against Oz’s hips.

They were a mess in every sense of the word, sticky, stained, vaguely falling apart but now with enough hands to hold the cracks in place.

“I…” Oz broke the silence first, hands still drifting along Qrow’s arms, his folded legs. “I hope that means I did well.”

Qrow blinked, looking at the man under him.

“Well?” Qrow barked. “Oz, you were – you’re – “

_How do you describe a dream realized?_

“Christ. You’re perfect.”

Oz’s eyes widened, just as quickly looking away, pink creeping into his face, visible in the darkness.

“…thank you,” he murmured. “And – you were…”

Qrow grinned. “Come on, Oz. Don’t be coy now. Not when you’re dripping – “

“Qrow!” 

But Qrow didn’t let him protest long, capturing that objection with his mouth, Oz struggling lightly, then less, and then not at all, meeting the movement of his lover’s lips, hands returning to Qrow’s back, pulling him closer.

Qrow broke away gently, taking a long breath. 

“Tai is gonna be pissed about his van,” he said.

Oz laughed, loud and genuine. “It’s still early. We can...air it out a bit.”

“Mmm,” Qrow said. “Probably a better idea than going for a second round.”

Oz blinked. “I – do you really think you could?”

“Another half hour and a coupla beers, and you bet that sweet ass of yours. Actually, I never did get a good look – “

Oz’s laughter echoed in the van as he playfully struggled against Qrow’s rough, exploring hands, the two giggling like schoolboys as they dressed in cramped quarters, Oz dissolving into incoherent laughter when Qrow dug a handful of wet wipes from the glove compartment that Qrow had swiped from Joe’s Crab Shack. Only after twenty minutes did Qrow open the van door, the two men stepping out, disheveled and unkempt, still holding onto each other’s shoulders as they shook with laughter, a sound that Qrow had heard from Oz more tonight than ever, and a sound he didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing.

A sound that halted abruptly when they found someone outside the van waiting for them. 

Qrow coughed, fake and obvious. 

“Hey, Tai.”

Taiyang sighed, but with the rueful smile of a man unsurprised. 

“You, uh.” Qrow coughed again. “You remember Mr. Pine.”

Oz shot him an alarmed look, his hands trying to smooth down his hair, cheeks pink.

“I think you can call him Oz after…all that,” Tai said.

_Oh shit._

Oz turned scarlet.

Qrow laughed nervously. “Uh, yeah, look…“

Ozpin gave him a desperate glance and Qrow cleared his throat.

“If the van’s rockin’ – ”

“We’re very sorry,” Oz broke in, his glance at Qrow sterner now. “We’ll have it detailed.”

_Detailed?_

Oz with the generosity again, the eager-to-please attitude. 

“Oz, you don’t have to,” Qrow said. “It’s just Tai.”

“Thanks,” Taiyang said dryly. 

“We have to,” Oz repeated. 

Tai sighed, kicking at a rock on the concrete, like he used to when they spent afternoons in this parking lot, never keen to go home so soon. 

“Look,” he said. “This means what I think it means, right?”

Ozpin relied on Qrow’s expression again.

Or maybe he was looking for the same answer.

“You’re…a thing, right?” Tai said, when neither responded. “Together?”

“I…” Oz dropped his eyes, still blushing. 

_Oh shit. He really doesn’t know._

“Yeah,” Qrow said, too loudly, and Oz’s head shot up, like he was surprised by the answer, like everything they had just _done_ wasn’t fucking obvious enough – 

Tai nodded, his smile faint but noticeable. “I guess I can forgive the van then.”

Qrow grinned. “Great, because I wanna borrow it for the rest of the night.”

Ozpin looked horrified. “Qrow, we can’t – ”

“Oh, go on,” Taiyang said, waving a hand. “I’ll call a cab. Besides, I wanted to chat with Coach Ironwood a bit. Let him know…how everything turned out.”

“Wait!” Oz followed him, hand extended with a set of car keys. “He’ll…need these. Please let him know that…” He glanced at Qrow again, almost smiling. “That I’m in good hands.”

Qrow’s grin grew until he was certain his face would stick. Ozpin wouldn’t meet his eyes when he returned. 

“So,” Qrow said. “Not ready to end the date yet?”

“I thought it would be rude,” Oz said. “Stop smirking at me.”

“Make me.”

Oz laughed, shaking his head. “You really haven’t changed much.”

“Not in any way that really matters.” Qrow reached out to lift Oz by the chin. “So? What d’you have in mind for tonight? Drinks? Dancing? Flyin’ off to South America to elope?”

“When he arrives with his carriage, don’t fucking turn him down.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Oz said, with a quiet laugh. “Just something a friend told me.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

Qrow nodded. “Sounds like good advice.”

“It is. I just…needed a bit of faith to see it.” Oz leaned in to brush his lips against Qrow’s.

_Still not tired of that._

“Why don’t we go to my place,” Oz whispered. “I would love to make you dinner.”

_Fuckin’ hell he’s not half bad at flirting –_

“Sounds perfect,” Qrow said. 

Perfect. 

Oz smiled, that smile from ten years ago, reborn, freed from everything that he held back, that held him back.

_Perfect._


End file.
